


Twelve Days

by ProfessorDrarry



Series: Christmas Fic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Courting Rituals, Established Relationship, Gift Giving, M/M, Twelve Days of Fic-mas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: Draco Malfoy may have changed significantly in recent years, but some traditions are hard to let fade. And even if Harry isn't sure why he's doing it, it's worth participating in the stupidity of this Courtship Ritual if he gets to continue living this life.





	1. Why Are We Doing This Again?

**Author's Note:**

> Since I couldn't get my act together to do an advent fic, I wrote this instead. One chapter a day for each of the 12 days of Christmas, plus today because you'll need some backstory ;) One ‘chapter’ a day (some of them are reeeeally short).
> 
> Thanks to Jepierre for Alphaing. Each of the gifts is a real gift from courtship days gone by - let me just say, these were the least bizarre of the lot. I'm pretty glad we don't do this anymore.
> 
> Merry Winter Festivities, friends!

“You’re late,”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Harry apologised.

“Are you going to be late every time?” Draco hissed. “Can I expect this to be the usual?”

“Draco, I’ve said I’m sorry,” Harry complained. “I got held up at work, I don’t know what you want me to—“

“Just so I know,” Draco interrupted. “If so, I’ll bring a novel or something. So I can tell the people who see me sitting here alone, time and time again, ‘oh don’t worry, I’m just waiting for my boyfriend who is always late’.”

“You could tell them you are waiting for your _very important_ boyfriend who sometimes gets held up at his _very important_ job of running a _very successful_ Quidditch team, but who am I to split hairs,” Harry grumbled.

“ _Draco, I’m not going to be late, I know you don’t like it when I’m late,”_ Draco mocked in a high pitched nasal voice that made Harry sigh.

“Are you finished yet?” He asked.

Draco thought for a moment, then kicked out Harry’s chair slightly. “Yeah, fine, I’m done. You okay?”

“Just the usual drama, it’s fine.”

“Did you bring it?” Draco gushed, grinning suddenly. He looked like a kid on...well, on Christmas.

“Yeah. Did we really have to start this today? Seems like tomorrow would be more appropriate, in that it’s actually Christmas.”

“Hang on…” Draco said, considering. “That’s bloody right. It’s Christmas fucking Eve. You did not get hung up at work.”

Harry looked sheepish. “Fine,” he said, sagging slightly as he gave in. “I fell asleep on the couch and then still had to wrap this.”

He flung a silver box on the table, tied messily with a bow that looked like a Quidditch player had tied it. Meaning, it was not at all symmetrical, misshapen, and the ribbon was a strange orange-red. Draco frowned but tried to see past appearances.

He held up the contents of the box a moment later with a distinct look of displeasure. The salt and pepper shakers shaped like two people hugging had been hilarious in the store. Plus, they were gold and silver, which fulfilled at least two of the requirements. Harry grinned with pride.

Draco put them down gently on the table and dusted off his hands. He stood, calmly tucking in his chair and holding the back as though steeling himself. Finally, he picked up the shakers, put them back in the box and pushed it toward Harry.

“It's like you're not even taking this seriously,” he said, rubbing his eyes with a sigh.

“What?” Harry said, confused. “No. Of course I'm not taking this seriously. It's ridiculous.”

Draco nodded once, lifted his jacket off the back of the chair, and muttered, “Good to know.”

Then he walked away, disappearing into the crowded market quickly. It wasn't until Harry couldn't see his head above the people anymore that he realised he probably should have followed him.

* * *

  
He banged on her door for a full five minutes before she opened it in a silk robe that left nothing to the imagination and made her even more gorgeous than normal. Say what you would about Pansy Parkinson, but she knew how to work with what she had. Even in the middle of the night, apparently.

“What in the actual fuck? You’d better be dying,” she warned.

“I need your help,” Harry implored. “With the courting thing. I think I screwed up.”

Pansy laughed and the sound was short and mean; he’d expected nothing less from waking her up, and he just did his best to look desperate and pathetic. Pansy crossed her arms and glared at him, unconvinced.

“So you mean your brilliant plan of ‘joke gifts’ didn't go over well? I'm simply shocked,” she quipped. “I would say I told you so, but I'm too busy being absolutely floored.”

“I just don't understand why he cares!” Harry shouted in exasperation. “It's ridiculous and archaic, and I really don't think that the Pureblooded idiots were thinking about the engagement of two men who had been dating for four years and who live together when they invented this stupid ritual!”

“He doesn't care,” Pansy shrugged.

“What?” Harry said, confused and annoyed.

“He doesn't care,” she repeated. “But his mother does. This isn't about the courtship at all. It's about his mother.”

Harry spluttered, trying to process.

“Well, why the fuck wouldn't he just say that!” He finally shouted, making Pansy raise an eyebrow at him in displeasure.

“You've been dating him for four years and you still expect him to explicitly tell you his every thought and feeling?” Pansy sneered. “You really are hopeless, aren’t you?”

“Fine. Whatever. Will you help me or not?” Harry retorted.

“Come in,” Pansy replied with a sigh. “Luckily for you, I've been prepared for this for years.”

She opened the entryway closet and pointed to a large box on the top shelf.

“Take that and come with me,” she waved at him tiredly. “We're going to need tea if I'm going to educate you on the stupidity of the Courtship Ritual tonight.”

Harry lifted the box down, buckling under the weight. “What is in here?” he exclaimed, pulling his wand to levitate it instead.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “All twelve days,” she sighed at him. “I bought them at your one year anniversary. Took you two long enough to figure out you were going to get married. I could have used that closet space, you know.”

Harry grinned at her and followed carefully.

“Love you too, Pans,” he stage-whispered at her back, earning him a rude gesture and a small smile.


	2. Day One: Brooch

Harry was nervous, holding the small, immaculately wrapped parcel in his hands. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been inside Malfoy Manor, and at least one of those had been during the war.

That had been one of his better experiences in the dark, foreboding house.

He took a deep breath and lifted the large brass door knocker. He reasoned to himself that he was supposed to be here. Draco was expecting him, and it was Christmas, and Narcissa didn't really hate him all that much anymore. He adjusted the bag he had slung on his shoulder, the one that contained a box of more tarts from Mrs Weasley than three humans could ever eat.

He could do this. Pansy said so.

The door swung open and Harry was shocked to find Draco standing behind it instead of an elf.

“If you embarrass me again today,” he said calmly. “I plan on just killing you. It'll be easier than breaking off the engagement.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Understood,” he replied anyway, following Draco into the house and ditching his boots and coat in the closet as Draco waited impatiently.

“Harry, Darling,” Narcissa said, wafting in in her usual long gown; this one was blue and white, and although it was very pretty, it made her look even paler than normal and the unnatural glow of her skin made Harry suppress a shiver.

“Narcissa,” he replied fondly, though the informal name still felt strange on his tongue, even a year later. “Thank you for the invitation to spend this Christmas afternoon with you and Draco.”

“No need for thanks, dear,” she replied, waving a hand. “You are family. Even more so, soon, no?” She giggled and the sound was both girlish and dignified. Harry had no idea how she always managed such strange combinations, but he suspected he would never quite get used to it.

They sat around the sitting room, and Harry was aware that he was squirming, but couldn’t seem to stop himself. He felt very much like it was a formal event at the Dursley’s, where he was expected to be seen and not heard. The similarity was making him uncomfortable. The pleasantries had already been dispensed, Narcissa had made an appropriate fuss about the tarts he’d brought, and they all held drinks. There was an inexorable amount of time until lunch still, and Harry was sure he would burst before then. He stared desperately at Draco, silently begging to be saved despite the fact that he was being resolutely ignored.

“Draco, my dear,” Narcissa finally implored. “Would you please put poor Harry out of his misery? He’s clearly extremely nervous about this gift business. Heavens knows what you’ve said to him to make him so terrified, but he looks like he’s about to be sick. How did I manage to raise such an ungracious child?”

Draco glared at Harry, and he knew he hadn’t quite been forgiven for the joke gift debacle. He gulped and tried to look contrite; it wasn’t hard since Draco glaring at him had always raised a certain amount of defiant anger in him. Contrition was unnatural.

“Fine,” Draco said finally, sitting back in his chair. “Go ahead, you git.”

Harry stood up and walked the length of the room, taking the seven strides to calm his breath. He had the right thing this time, Pansy had made sure of that. He just needed to not screw this up in front of Narcissa Malfoy.

“Draco Abraxas,” he said, walking back to Draco slowly, and pulling the words that Pansy had spent hours drilling into his head out of his nervous brain. “Please accept this first gift, one of a dozen, as my intention to win your hand. Please know that I hand you this as from humble hands as a symbol of loyalty and promise. This first, a golden brooch, that you may feel my promise wrap around you, secure and cloaked in my honour.”

He felt stiff and silly. He was Harry Bloody Potter after all; he didn’t do formality or ancient, archaic words. He didn’t do tradition or ceremony. He hated all of those things. But he loved Draco Malfoy; it was as much a shock to him as it was to anyone else, but they were meant to stay together. He knew it. If this was what Draco needed, well then he would do it.

He would do it so that he could wake every morning to the smell of coffee because Draco had remembered to set up the damn thing the night before. He would do it so that he could buy Draco new slippers every year, the kind that were better suited to an eighty-year-old, but were the source of at least half of Draco’s happiness.

He would do it so that he could never stop having Draco praise him using gentle barbs and insults, small ruffles of the hair at the base of his neck. So that his bathroom would always smell of lemon and mint. So that his pillow would always smell of lemon and mint and Draco. He would do the stupid pureblood thing so that Draco knew he was safe, from now on; so that they could live together without regret or apology, for the rest of their lives.

He gulped as Draco hesitated. Then, he smiled when a hand reached out and took the gift gently.

“Harry James, I accept your suit and await the proof of your love,” Draco muttered, pulling the paper off.

“Much better, Potter,” he grinned, lifting the oblong brooch from its velvet perch; even if Harry thought it was stupid to own a brooch when every cloak had a fastener nowadays, even he had to admit it was nice. Stamped with complicated filigree, it looked both delicate and sturdy, and emerald leaves finished each vine. It was perfect for Draco, which was unsurprising.

“Pansy,” Harry muttered, embarrassed.

“So you finally saw sense,” Draco quipped.

“Beautiful, gentlemen,” Narcissa said, smiling as she took the broach from Draco. “It is odd that you won’t be here for this whole process.”

She looked small and wistful for a moment as she studied the filigree, sweeping it with a gentle thumb.

“But times must change, I suppose,” she finally said, brightness masking a small sigh. “Shall we eat?”

Draco smiled at her, and put the brooch back in its box, giving Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze as he passed to take her by the arm before they walked into the dining room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!   
> Come hang out with me on [ Tumblr](https://professordrarry.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this one is a teeny bit smutty. Not actually, but close enough.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to stay here while this was going on?” Harry hummed, settling onto his pillow with no intention of moving regardless of Draco’s answer.

“Yeah, I guess technically you're not, but…” Draco whispered back sleepily. “It’s also Christmas and it’d be weird to not be with you on Christmas.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, turning his head to look at Draco. “Do you ever wonder how our lives can be so weird? Like, we’ve only had what...one, two Christmases together? And yet, that feels like the norm. It’s weird.”

Draco smiled at him with closed eyes. “Before I answer that, is this one of those half-hour Potter diatribes that is going to keep me awake for hours?”

Harry snuggled close to Draco and kissed his forehead.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

“God you’re a sap,” Draco said, smiling beneath Harry and wrapping his arms around his waist. They dozed in silence for a moment, snuggled close against the chill of the room; despite the drawn curtains on the bed and the magic blue heated globe that hovered above them, there was a winter chill in the air that made Harry glad he wasn’t home alone at the flat.

“I have your next gift,” Harry murmured suddenly. “It’s after midnight. If I give it to you now, does it count?”

“Guess so,” Draco said, eyes still closed. “Though it’s not like there’s a rush. Unless you have secret plans to go meet your lover in the middle of the night and leave me stranded with the house elves and my mother all day tomorrow.”

“Well, you know, I’d give him up, but he knows all the things I like,” Harry said, pinching Draco’s arm and making him grin.

“That so?” Draco said, sounding amused but still half-asleep. “Perhaps I’ll need some lessons so that I can tempt you back to my bed. I’d have to find a suitable person to practise with though.”

Draco opened one eye and laughed at Harry’s confused expression. “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Harry.”

He smiled tentatively and shook his head.

“It’s just the gifts...they’re making me nervous,” Harry admitted.

“Go on then,” Draco sighed. “Go get it.”

Harry jumped from bed and went to the duffle bag he’d left inside the large closet in Draco’s childhood bedroom. He had wrapped it himself, in sheer, floaty fabric that he’d found in Pansy’s closet and convinced her to give him. It was a strange sentiment, rather unlike him, but he liked its silvery colour and he had wanted it immediately.

“Okay, so this one I just have to — Draco,” Harry sighed, freezing immediately. “Really?”

Draco laughed; he was suddenly stark naked, lying with one hand propped beneath his head and his leg bent scandalously as he stroked himself slowly. There was lube on the bed and Harry laughed gently. He could have sworn he’d only been gone a moment.

“What?” Draco said innocently. “You said you were nervous, and I do need the practise. Do you actually have a problem with me being naked in your bed in the middle of the night? Or is it the fact that I’ve started without you...”

Harry just chuckled as he watched Draco’s hand.

“Didn’t think so,” Draco said, voice husky. “So give me the stupid bowl so we can get to the important things.”

Draco rolled onto his back and extended his free arm, taking the package from Harry when he was near enough.

“This wooden bowl, hewn from natural elements,” Harry said quickly, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “Is given that we may nourish each other in health and...er, something, something?”

“Long life. You couldn’t remember ‘long life’?” Draco teased, pulling the ribbon off the shimmering fabric with one hand and pulling out the bowl. “It’s very nice, very bowl like. Now get your arse over here.”

Harry hurriedly shimmied out of his pyjama bottoms, leaving them in a puddle on the floor as he crawled across the bed to flatten Draco further, throwing his weight across him kissing him carefully as he put the bowl on the bedside table. Draco wrapped his arms under Harry’s and tucked his head down to suck a mark onto Harry’s collarbone. Harry laughed gently as he pulled back Draco’s hair until they were face to face again.

“Just trying to make sure you know who you belong to,” Draco defended, running a finger over the red spot to dry it, and making Harry shiver.

“You really don’t need to worry, D,” Harry smiled, tucking back hair gently as he balanced himself again. “It’s not like I’d go through this much trouble to just throw you off.”

Draco smiled and wrapped his legs around Harry, dragging him down until his erection pressed into Harry’s still soft groin. “Prove it,” he groaned.

Harry reached down to pull the pillow away from Draco’s head, and his hand grazed over something smooth and watery. He grinned wickedly.

“Hey Draco,” he growled. “If you accept my suit, does that mean I own you.”

“Wh-what?” Draco shuddered.

Harry flicked a hand up to the headboard and Draco’s hands flew up above his head making him gasp in a sharp intake of breath.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Harry whispered, kneeling carefully between Draco’s legs so he could reach up and loosely tie Draco’s hands with the fabric. The bowl had not been nearly as beautiful wrapped in the shimmery material as Draco’s narrow, pale wrists looked now, and Harry licked his lips at the sight.

“I don’t believe I’ve never thought about wrapping you up before,” he whispered, kissing his way down Draco’s neck. “You’re like a porcelain doll. You deserve pretty packaging.”

Draco didn’t respond, except to release a guttural moan as Harry reached his nipple, his legs falling loosely off of Harry’s body as Harry continued to lick a path down his body. As Harry’s hands trailed down with his mouth, feather soft touches that were not his usual MO, Draco pulled against the tie, his hips lifting from the bed as he sought friction against Harry’s body.

“Draco,” Harry hummed as he hit Harry’s naval. “I’m sorry about before. I didn’t understand.”

Draco hissed as Harry sucked on his belly button. “Are you seriously choosing right now to apologise to me?”

“I feel bad,” Harry said, breathing across Draco’s flat expanse of stomach, making him shiver into gooseflesh as his cock bounced into Harry’s neck.

“Then make it up to me,” Draco groaned, pulling his hands hard enough that he managed to bend his elbows, his knees pinning Harry’s torso to him. Harry laughed.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Harry muttered, continuing his path and flattening Draco’s legs with firm hands on his knees, until he butterflied open for Harry, turning his head to the side in frustrated sensation. Harry felt himself harden at the sight; Draco was very controlling, in most things and it was rare that — even like this — Harry got to take his time and admire.

“Hmm,” he mused. “I think I like this.”

Draco’s wrists writhed above their heads as Harry lowered his mouth to take Draco in. Draco was lost the second Harry’s hands touched his thighs.

-XxXx-

“Harry, the bowl is lovely,” Narcissa said over breakfast. “

“I just hope no one expects me to serve things in it,” Harry smiled. “We would all suffer greatly.”

“He’s not kidding,” Draco grinned, kicking Harry’s leg lightly where his foot rested against it under the table. “Man can’t even boil water.”


	4. Day Three: Amber

  
It was just lunch at the Burrow, but Draco was sort of dreading it. Not because it was the Burrow; they had long ago managed to overcome that ridiculous hurtle, with lots of shouting and anger, and then lots of cleaning and helping in the kitchen on his part. Mrs. Weasley’s affection was stifling and sort of frustrating at times, but it was hard won and he treasured it nonetheless.

Today, he was dreading lunch because Hermione was still angry at him over the courtship ritual. She thought it was dumb, and elitist, and Pureblood. She had a right to her anger, and she wasn’t entirely wrong. He was aware of that.

But as he sat waiting for _Harry_ , for a change, he thought about all the reasons he had demanded this. His mother was obviously his greatest motivator, but it wasn’t just that, no matter what he’d told Pansy.

He’d known he was gay for a very long time; the secret that wasn’t at all a secret had been buried in the magazines he hid beneath his bed, stolen from his cousins in France. In the fervent listening in the Slytherin dorms, late at night when other boys assumed everyone was asleep. In the blushing moments of embarrassing conversations had in the common room. He’d had to tamp it down for a very long time, but then again, his teenage years, all of their teenage years, hadn’t exactly been normal.

Draco had lived an entire decade before going to school, though, and people liked to forget that.

Before Hogwarts, before his obsession with Potter, before Voldemort and marks and battles, he had been a Malfoy, first and foremost. Everything that came with that rather dubious title informed Draco's earliest memories.

There had been the education every Young, Honourable Pureblood endured. Endless hours of tutoring on the old ways, with maths and skewed history thrown in for balance. By seven, he had known the words he was one day going to have to speak to his equally Pureblooded Bride. The careful language full of pride and honour, to be spoken in front of her family in their formal sitting room. The ceremony and the gifts were tied to ancient practice that was as horrid as the rest of it, purchasing a wife like chattel. Some of it was flowery and beautiful, but the history remained and Draco knew, even as a child, that not all of it was _right_.

He had also always assumed his _proclivities_ would have to be satisfied in the back rooms of brothels and with covert lovers. He’d accepted it, even if the thought usually made him miserable.

Then, there had been a war; and even more importantly, his father had died, too weak to handle Azkaban. He’d been sad for a year.

Then, he’d woken up to realise that all it meant was _freedom_. When, just after, he’d re-found Harry, when Harry had seen _him_ for the first time ever, he had known for certain that he needed the Courtship. He needed to flip the damn thing on its head and make it about everything that his father would have loathed.

He didn’t regret it, but he also couldn’t articulate it to Hermione; and so she was just angry.

“Are you ready already?” Harry said, astonished as he came into the kitchen and found Draco sat at the table. “I was taking my time because I assumed you were still getting dressed. We can go.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Draco asked.

“The gift? Later.”

“Harry,” Draco pleaded. “Please don’t tell me you’re planning to do it at the Burrow. That’s not going to go well.”

“Relax, Draco,” Harry said, smiling mysteriously.

They had decided to floo — for expediency, even though it made Harry miserable — and they stumbled out onto the hearth one after another, straight into a large, mismatched gaggle of people. Luna, Neville, George and Alicia, Charlie, for some reason even Pansy was there, and Draco gaped at her.

“Oh stop it,” she said dismissively. “I was invited, same as you.”

“Welcome, boys!” Molly called from the doorway to the kitchen. “Excellent timing, we were just about to do gifts.”

From his pocket, Harry produced a small bundle of things that he expanded. Draco already knew what they contained; many envelopes of excellent seasons tickets to Quidditch League games, a traditional gift given to those inclined each year. A box of Muggle trinkets for Arthur, which would make Molly angry. A collection of new books for Hermione and Ron’s kids. As all these things appeared however, wrapped in Draco's neat and tidy way, another small box joined the items in Harry’s hands, and Draco groaned menacingly.

“Harry,” he complained.

“Hush Draco, you’ll ruin everything,” Harry whispered at him, smiling at the room and ignoring further protests from Draco.

They sat and opened gifts; the tradition of waiting for the big lunch, of spending Christmas Day with just their own families had sprung up out of necessity. The chaos and the pressure of having everyone get together was easier to handle after the whole mess of actual Christmas with small children was over. As the whirl of activity died down on this frosty late morning,  Draco and Harry donned their new sweaters, appropriate bets were made over Quidditch match outcomes, and everyone had settled into general chatter.

“Harry,” Molly said gently at his side. “Don’t you have one more gift.”

“Um, yeah, I do, but...I think maybe it’s a bad idea, Molly,” Harry grimaced.

“Oh please? Won’t you?” Molly begged. “None of mine thought it was worth it. I’d love to see it. Besides, it’s the right way, with your family all around.”

Draco looked back and forth between them; he watched Harry blush at being told he was part of the family. He watched Molly smile fondly down at both of them. Until finally, it clicked into place.

“Go on, then,” Draco said gently, nudging Harry.

Harry looked at him quizzically, but Draco just smiled.

“Seriously, go ahead,” he repeated, turning to face Harry on the sofa. Molly grinned.

Harry’s face lit up, and Draco had to suppress his affectionate eye roll. The idiot didn’t even know why he was so happy right now, and it was just about the most adorable thing Draco had ever witnessed.

 _Insufferable_ , as usual.

“Okay,” Harry smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the small box. “Draco, I give you amber, that we may grow together to learn wisdom and patience, with each other and with ourselves. Something we could both use, huh? Patience.”

Harry handed Draco the box gently, and Molly sighed behind him.

“ _Oh_ , I forgot how lovely it is to just do some things the old way,” she whispered. “Go on, open it dear. Arthur gave me a ring.”

Draco smiled at her warmly and pulled the lid off the box, revealing a small chunk of amber with an odd, metal clip attached firmly to the bottom. The amber was a deep red, clear and highly polished, a single small air bubble in the middle. Draco lifted it from the box curiously, glancing at Harry when he still didn’t understand.

“It attaches to your stirring rod,” Harry explained. “For brewing. Amber clarifies the mind, helps balance emotions. Good for brewing complicated potions.”

“That’s… it’s brilliant, actually,” Draco exclaimed happily, holding the amber up to the light.

“Yeah, it is. _Pansy_ is pretty brilliant,” Harry grinned wryly.

“And everyone is always forgetting,” Pansy said in a bored tone from her seat by the window.

“Only because she knows you both so well,” Hermione smiled, off to the side and holding a squirming Rose. They looked at her sidelong and she sighed. “Well, I mean, she knows Harry doesn’t like useless things lying about the house, and she knows Draco spends way more time brewing his own potions than is strictly necessary. She made sure the gifts made sense for you both.”

Molly clapped her hands, and turned to face Pansy, who was studiously avoiding the gaze of everyone in the room, and had gone a brilliant shade of pink that Draco had never seen on her face before. He stood up and walked over to block her from the room.

“Pansy,” he said gently. “It’s brilliant. Your mum would have —“

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” she interrupted him shortly. “There’s no need for warm fuzzy gushing just because we’re surrounded by Gryffindors.”

Draco smiled, and kissed her on top of the head, and let her be as the party quickly swung into a set of ridiculous and complicated games, augmented by the frightening additions of objects from the joke shop. As they all laughed and joked, the uproar took the attention off of them and Harry tugged on Draco’s sleeve.

“What?” He asked, smiling.

“Why’d you let me do it now? You knew it would impact Pansy,” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah,” Draco said, shrugging. “But your family was here, too. Sometimes we can't fix everything for everyone all the time. It'd be great if you could learn that one particular Slytherin skill. Pansy needs to talk about all of it more, anyway.”

“Thanks, Draco,” Harry said earnestly, making Draco squirm.

“Well, it is supposed to be a ritual for family” he replied, trying to sound like he didn't care. “I’m glad Molly got to see one.”

Harry grinned, and kissed him firmly, to many whoops and hollers from the collected adults in the room.

A few moments later, Pansy was squished between them, cuddled up against them with her knees tucked to her chest and her head on Harry’s shoulder.

“What is this life, Draco Malfoy?” She sighed. “These people are our family, now. You do realise this, yes?”

Draco patted her arm where it rested on his torso. “Yeah, Pans,” he laughed. “It’s pretty fun, isn’t it.”

She smiled, and kicked him gently.

It was just Christmas Brunch at the Burrow, after all.


	5. Day Four: Heirloom

  
Harry blearily trudged down the corridor, drawing his robe shut properly just as he opened the door. Draco was still in bed, sound asleep, and Harry himself had only been up for approximately six and a half minutes. He was grumbling to himself about ‘indecent hours to be calling’, but the truth was that it was after eleven and the fact that they were both still in bed was making him both proud and slightly embarrassed.

“Hello?” He said to the other side of the door as he flung it open while also putting on his glasses.

“Oh dear, I thought I should have called in first,” said the distinguished voice on the other side. Harry immediately straightened. Narcissa Malfoy, in her dignified winter cloak, pale lilac with a fur trimmed hood, was standing in his grungy vestibule, brow furrowed.

“Only, Draco and I have lunch on Thursdays,” she continued, “and he didn't say anything about cancelling even though he wasn't at work again until tomorrow.”

“No, Narcissa,” Harry stuttered, opening the door wider. “You are always welcome, I just… We were, uh, out late last night. Please come in.”

He moved out of her way and took her coat, surreptitiously fastening the belt on his robe tighter.

“Please, make yourself comfortable. Let me just see what Draco has gotten up to,” he said.

He moved at lightning speed back to their bedroom and closed the door gently as he went to shake Draco awake.

“What,” he grumbled, turning away from Harry. “I‘m still sleeping. Go away.”

“Your mother is here,” Harry replied, panic in his voice.

“Fuck. Thursday,” Draco groaned.

“Yeah,” Harry scolded. “Also, you have lunch with your mother every Thursday? How did I not know that?”

“You've never asked,” Draco yawned sitting up slowly. “Can you go make her a drink or something? I'll be down in a moment.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed. “No! I've literally never been around her on my own!”

“Merlin, but you are dramatic,” Draco replied, eyeing Harry. “Oh my God, fine. Can I at least brush my teeth?”

“If you must. You have two minutes before I come looking for you again.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but he did pull himself out of bed and donned a robe of his own. Harry trudged back down the corridor, trying to flatten his hair slightly, checking his face in the glass of the paintings on the wall, bracing himself against the unknown of Narcissa on his sofa.

He'd just headed back from the kitchen with a glass of the fancy-ass sparkling water Draco always had on hand, handing it to Narcissa, when Draco appeared and kissed her on the cheek.

“Morning, Mother,” he said warmly.

“Just barely, Darling,” Narcissa replied ruefully. Harry felt his cheeks warm slightly.

“Mother, the number of days Harry and I have off at the same time are basically non-existent. We stayed awake last night and took advantage,” Draco answered, shocking Harry with his barely concealed wink in his direction.

But Narcissa just laughed lightly. “Ah, to be young again. Never mind, Dear. I'm really only here because Ms Parkinson asked for my assistance. We can reschedule lunch.”

“There's a lovely cafe just down the road, if you can give Harry and I a few moments to get ready?” Draco suggested.

“Muggle?” Narcissa asked skeptically.

“Don't be a snob, Mother,” Draco responded. The eyebrow that Narcissa raised at him was so similar to the one Draco liked to use when Harry was being ridiculous that Harry had to bite back laughter.

“Well, if we are going to dine Muggle — which, I might add, I do quite regularly — we'd better do this part first,” Narcissa said seriously. Her back was rod straight and her attitude left no room for question. “Sit please. Both of you.”

Pinned to the sofa by the attention of the Malfoy matriarch, Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He had no idea what this was about; day four’s gift was sitting in its box upstairs, yet Narcissa had said something about Pansy and was now insisting they sit.

“Harry, Dear,” she began with a smile. “Have I ever told you that your look of confusion was quite famous in my house when you and Draco first started speaking again? It was. I heard about it every day. ‘Adorably insufferable’ was the phrase used most often, if I recall.”

“Mother,” Draco hissed, colouring beautifully and making Harry laugh.

“Well,” Narcissa grinned, “It is true dear. Anyway, you may well be confused, but let me immediately explain — the box you have upstairs is a fake. It is actually empty. Pansy came to me sometime ago and suggested that should you two ever decide to partake in the Twelve Gifts, it would be my responsibility to help with this one. So, here I am.”

“Now, Harry, my love,” Narcissa sighed, turning to pull a carefully wrapped square from beside her chair. It was covered in expensive looking cloth, tied with string, and she rested it carefully on her knees.

“I know that you and my husband never had… positive experiences, and I understand your propensity to despise him. That sour look you have on your face right now is rather how I felt about the whole mess in our later years.” Narcissa paused, her eyebrows pulling together in a pained expression that made Harry feel guilty. “Nonetheless, I am here today to tell you a different story of a man I once loved, a man who was, at first, quite a good father. Draco, you might remember that man if you try.”

Draco smiled a sad smile and nodded. He didn’t say anything, but Harry felt him nudge imperceptibly closer on the sofa. They didn’t spend time talking about Lucius Malfoy; Harry knew sometimes, Draco woke in the middle of the night and cried, almost silently. He had no doubt that some of those nights were about his father. Harry decided not to care if Narcissa minded, and reached down to hold onto Draco’s hand. A sturdier smile appeared on the weary face beside him, and Harry held his ground.

“One of those moments where he was a better father than he was a man was when he made sure Draco knew about this. Of course, Lucius always assumed it would be Draco giving it to someone, but I rather find I don’t care, in the end,” Narcissa said sternly, lifting the cloth off a very large tomb.

The pages of the book were yellowed and brittle, the parchment curling at the edges, the covers a deep burgundy leather that was etched with something that Harry could not make out. It was bound by a dark black thong of leather, wrapped many times. Harry’s eyes narrowed unconsciously, and Narcissa laughed a light and tinkly laugh.

“You may relax, Harry Potter,” she said in amusement. “This book contains absolutely no dark magic. It is an heirloom of far greater importance than any of the Dark Artifacts whose existence in the Malfoy vault I cannot confirm.”

She winked at him and the expression seemed oddly normal, common, almost lowly on her face. It made Harry’s scowl break, and Narcissa’s grin widened.

“Now,” she continued. “I know this is all a bit… unconventional, and somewhere, an ancestor of ours is shouting and cursing how none of this is comme il faut, but Draco darling, I think you need to speak the words today. Do you remember them? To give Harry this Heirloom of —“

“I remember,” Draco interrupted. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as he murmured, “Harry, I give you this heirloom of our family name, to show that I see you as a part of me, a part of us, precious and timeless.”

“Oh,” Harry responded, holding tight to Draco’s hand.

It had been one thing to memorise the words as Pansy had fed them to him; he knew the all by heart and he tried to care about them when he said them. Still.

It was an entirely different thing to hear them come from Draco, directed at him, delivered with the gravitas and meaning of someone who had always known and respected this tradition. Harry shivered as Narcissa rose from her chair and brought the book to his lap.

“It is an oral history, but, er —“ she hesitated. “Written down?”

She looked down at the book sheepishly and helped Harry to unwrap it.

“It’s complicated,” she finished solemnly. “Here. Look.”

That the book was ‘complicated’ was the greatest understatement that had ever been spoken around him, and that was certainly saying something considering his life. The pages were filled with generations of different handwriting, scrawled in every direction, a beautiful combination of records and prose, letters transcribed, random poems, births, deaths, marriages. There were pages with flowing pictures, sketched in careful ink— creatures and scenery, houses and maps. The movement of the Malfoy’s, from the beginning to just after Draco was born. Harry found his name, linked with a smooth, thin line, in flowery quill writing that Harry recognised as Narcissa's from the many letters they had received.

For many moments, maybe even an entire hour, Harry and Draco sat together on the couch, pouring through the book. As time wore on, Harry became aware of the fact that both Narcissa and Draco had tears in their eyes.

“Calm, Draco,” Narcissa said quietly, reaching out to touch her son’s face. “He’d have wanted you to have it, despite… everything.”

“You can’t know that,” Draco insisted, shaking his head and meeting her eye. She shushed him, and Harry squirmed as they sat having an unspoken conversation. One he wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to be a part of, and he was completely and absolutely happy he was present


	6. Day Five: Miniatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tradition of giving miniature versions of the places where they actually lived and worked is the weirdest thing that Medieval knights did....  
> Sorry for this one; it's small and rather pointless, much like the miniatures themselves ;)

“Okay, I definitely don’t get this one,” Harry said, throwing a large, clumsily wrapped box down on the table. “Like, everything else, I have sort of been able to understand, even if it was dumb and archaic. But this one? Don’t get it.”

Draco laughed, pulling the box toward him. “It’s leftover from the Medieval parts of the ceremony. Popular with knights and the like. But it  _ is  _ sort of dumb.”

“Yes, well, I decided the same thing. So I made Pansy let me get a different thing. Her’s was….well, I guess they were nice, but they were also pointless and—“

“And we all know how you feel about pointless things,” Draco grinned. “Yeah, fine, fine. Now I’m curious. Say the words so I can open it.”

Harry glanced up at the ceiling, screwing up his face to try and remember. “Fuck, I’ve forgotten this one. Something about small tokens meaning the same as large gestures? In times of wealth or in times of….frig, what was that word? It was dumb...Meagre...? Shit, I’ll have to go read it again.”

Draco shrugged, “Don’t bother. Good enough. It’s ‘let the smallest token be my grandest gesture, and may our marriage garner strength, both in times of wealth and in humble, meagre years.’ It’s one of my favourite ones, actually.”

Harry flushed. “Crap, Draco, I’m sorry. It’s just so much to remember.”

Draco smiled. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve had decades to remember. I’m rather impressed that you’ve done so well. Relax. Can I open this now? It’s killing me.”

Harry waved a distracted hand, and Draco carefully took off the paper, inhaling the scent of sap and glue, and gasping a tiny, distinguished gasp at what he found.

“Harry,” he exclaimed. “It’s beautiful. Where on earth did you find it?”

“Er,” Harry hesitated, scrubbing the back of his neck. “It’s probably best if I don’t say. It may not have been entirely...um, legal. You’ve had a bad influence on me. Although, I did make Ron come with me, so we should be safe from Law Enforcement,” Harry laughed.

“I don't even care,” Draco said, thoroughly impressed. “ _ Look at these pieces.  _ Are they all hand carved?”

Harry nodded. “They’re really responsive, too. Watch. Knight to E5.”

The knight hopped to, dipping and diving around any pawns in its way until it arrived at E5, where it stood at full attention, awaiting its next command. Draco laughed in a rare, full bodied chuckle and grinned at Harry.

“Are you ever going to stop using bizarre yet predictable opening moves at the start of a chess match?” He quipped.

Harry laughed and shook his head. “Probably not. I blame my impoverished childhood. I only learned at eleven, remember.”

“Oh fuck off,” Draco laughed. “The number of things you manage to blame on your childhood…”

Harry just grinned.

“It’s really beautiful, Harry. Thank you. Do you have time for a game?”

Harry looked at his watch; he really didn’t. There was a scout arriving after lunch, and a new recruit he was supposed to be interviewing just after that, and he still had to take the team through evening drills ahead of the game the next day.

“Course,” he said with a smile, settling down across the table from Draco.

Draco grinned wickedly.

“Knight to E5,” he said with a smirk.


	7. Day Six: Fine Robes

Draco was going back to work begrudgingly, annoyed largely because Harry was still lounging around the flat, in his pants with a giant book of new Quidditch moves in front of him, the fire roaring in the background. He’d looked cosy, and Draco didn’t care that he really just needed to stop by the office for a few hours to check on a few permits and ensure that nothing had exploded while he was gone. The Regulations Department has generally handled all the Christmas mishaps for him, but he didn’t like leaving the other curse breakers to their own devices too long.

“I hate you,” he’d grimaced as he pulled on his boots. It had snowed overnight and he was pissed off about that too. “You could at least wear bottoms in the living room.”

“You don’t hate me, and I don’t wanna,” Harry said, tongue between his teeth as he made a messy note on the pad of paper balanced on his knee. “Stop grumbling and go. Then you get to come home. And get a present.”

“Day six,” Draco sighed. “I’m sick of this.”

Harry laughed. “Tough toenails, pretty boy. You signed up for it and _tortured_ me into guiltily participating. You’re stuck, chickadee.”

“Ugh,” groaned Draco. “You are spending too much time with Pansy. You’re starting to sound like her and I don’t like it.”

Harry leapt up from his seat and wrapped a scarf from the hook around Draco’s neck, kissing him as he passed it back around. “Have a good day at work, honey. I’ll be here in the kitchen, slaving away.”

“Merlin forbid,” Draco laughed, smacking Harry lightly on the head. “Don’t touch my pots. Last time I had to replace half the set.”

Draco trudged out the door into the snow, but once he was in the bright, late morning sun, he actually felt a little better. He’d never really been one for sitting around, truthfully; now that he was away from the house, the fire and the decorations and Harry, he appreciated the cold and the real world.

There was a minute where he contemplated walking, but the brisk wind changed that. Which ended up being fortunate because the office was a disaster and he spent the rest of the day doing things that weren’t his job to put out just enough fire that he could actually take the rest of his time off.    


* * *

 

Five hours later, he wandered into the flat, exhausted and inexplicably dishevelled. And was immediately stopped by Harry, fully dressed and already in a coat and scarf.

“Welcome home — Merlin… you look like shit,” Harry said all in one breath. “Not a great day I take it?”

“I've had better,” Draco agreed, quirking an eyebrow as he fingered Harry's coat. “Going somewhere?”

Harry grinned, pulling a box from behind his back, one Draco hadn't even noticed him holding.

“Fine silk robes, so that you know it will always be my duty to provide you with comfort and the finest of things,” Harry said. “Although, you'd better fucking help, lazy arse. I don't like that one. It's gross.”

“Agreed,” Draco answered. “I'll open this later. Where are you going?”

“ _We're_ going. You have to open those now so you can put them on. Hurry. And go fix your bloody hair,” Harry said, ushering Draco into the flat, his shoes still on his feet, and huffed when Draco paused. “Draco, you now have _eight_ minutes. Let's go!”

“I hate surprises, Potter,” Draco said over his shoulder as he walked into the powder room.

“Bullshit, you love surprises, and we both know it.”

Draco laughed as he closed the door.

Harry wasn't nervous anymore, but they were definitely going to be late, which meant that there was a thirty percent chance that Draco was going to be persnickety instead of surprised. As he paced the front corridor, he was dragged back in time, thinking about the first month of their relationship.

He didn't think about it often. He barely recognised who those people were, even in his own, slightly biased memory. He thought of Draco's long hair and silent brooding, his too-skinny frame trying to melt into the background of every room. He thought of himself, loud and brash and constantly trying to be completely the opposite of quiet, so that people didn't feel the need to ask him if he was okay. He would get home each evening exhausted and broken, but he felt like he didn't have any other choice.

Draco hadn’t been Lead Cursebreaker back then. He'd been a middling pion, sent on small cases, like Muggle tampering and regulation checks. Nonetheless, his job was how they'd ended up back in touch again; Draco's team of two was responsible for checking the pitch before each official match, an attempt to avoid game fixing and tampering, and to ensure proper anti-Muggle charms were in effect.

Draco's subtle quips, the disappearance of his high-and-mighty attitude, and a genuine smile Harry had never noticed before had suddenly left Harry pining. He'd start each week hoping that it would be Draco and not his coworker who would arrive to check the field.

He'd noticed, and then he'd cornered Draco, kissing him because he couldn't find words to ask what he really wanted to ask. Namely, _why are you trying so hard to disappear._

It had been slow and painful at first. They fought, they broke up. They pissed off all their friends. But Draco also showed up on the anniversary of the battle with a pine tree sapling and a bottle of whiskey, and a plan to plant it at the castle. They had been inseparable from that day; as Draco put weight back on, as Harry let himself start feeling again. As they figured out how to move on.

Harry was lost in thought, and he didn't immediately hear the door open down the corridor. When Draco reappeared in front of him, he felt his face twist up into a wide, bright smile.

“See, I told Pansy they’d be perfect,” he grinned. “She tried to talk me out of green.”

Draco looked down at himself, still trying to smooth the top of his hair down; the smell of his mysteriously soft gel wafted to Harry as Draco chuckled and did a little spin. The formal dress robes were the perfect length, the green silk pooling in a beautiful swish around his ankles, hugging tight to his hips and then flowing out in a strange but elegant swoop.

“Well, I hope you didn’t explain the _significance_ of green,” Draco smirked. “I’ll never be able to look at her again.”

Harry laughed. “I left the story out, yes.”

“They’re pretty formal, though. Where the hell are we going? _You_ look like a Muggle.”

“Just trust me, Draco,” Harry insisted, handing Draco a cloak from his closet, His new brooch attached. “Now come on, we’ll be late.”

Draco followed Harry out of the house and took his arm as they spun into Apparition.

-XxX-

They landed in front of a large house that Draco just barely recognised; it was like he had once dreamed about it and felt a weird tug in the pit of his stomach. The house was white and stately, and definitely old. He looked at Harry carefully, a questioning gaze that just made Harry smile.

“You’ll see,” he answered, walking up the path.

Harry lifted the large knocker and stood back with his hands in his pocket to wait. Draco waited nervously behind him. Something felt odd and significant.

The door opened with a vehement swing, and a large, boisterous man stood behind it wearing ruby red robes trimmed with black.

“Potter,” the man said. “You actually convinced him to come.”

“No,” Harry said carefully, shaking his head. “I just didn’t tell him where we were going.”

“Well, the same result, I guess. Draco, come on in. You’ll miss lunch.”

Draco studied the house and the man at the door for a moment. The image finally clicked into place.

“Greg,” he murmured. He hadn’t seen him since after his house arrest right after the Battle, but if he added ten years and a couple of pounds, the man was definitely Gregory Goyle.

“Glad you’re here, Malfoy,” Greg said quietly. “We have some catching up to do.”

Draco nodded and looked at Harry.

“Oh, I’m not staying,” Harry said, his face set in a hard line; Draco understood his hesitation. There was no love lost between these two, and Draco hardly expected Harry to want to hang around whoever else was in the house. But he was also embarrassingly close to tears.

Regardless of whether or not he could admit it to himself, Draco had never had many friends at school. He secretly was pretty sure that loneliness and desperately needing to be loved had greatly contributed to his decisions at seventeen. Not that it was an excuse, but it was, at the very least, a reason.

Harry Potter, somehow, for some reason, had tracked down Gregory Goyle, found him in his childhood home and then made it possible for Draco to see him again. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t completely understand why. He held his silk sleeve in his palm and studied the ground for a moment until Harry’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“It’s just lunch,” Harry whispered. “We’ve all changed. He deserved to show you how he has, too.”

Draco nodded, still not able to look at Harry.

Greg cleared his throat, “Well, Draco. Would you like to meet my wife and daughter?”

Draco’s head snapped up to look at Goyle. He nodded and stepped forward. He put the past behind him, and walked into a foyer where he’d spent many a summer day.

* * *

 

Harry went back to the flat and paced for the entire afternoon. He tried _not_ to pace, but there was absolutely nothing he could do that he could focus on. He didn't know if he had made a huge mistake. He didn't know if Draco was going to come home angry and seething, or if his very calculated risk would pay off. All he knew for sure was that Draco needed to stop hiding as much as Pansy needed to talk about losing her family. They had the same need for people who were close to them, and neither of them knew how to ask for help.

When the door finally opened, well into the early evening, Draco swept in with a flourish of his cloak, a broad grin, and a flush of wine and joviality that was uncommon on the sober, carefully composed man. Harry felt himself release a long breath, relief washing over him.

“Hello, love,” Draco said, grinning. “Why are you standing in the middle of the living room?”

“No reason,” Harry said sheepishly. “Have a nice afternoon?”

“Harry,” Draco gushed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I wouldn't have even believed its him. Honestly. The house looks… Well, I would never have suspected that it once housed dark wizards. His wife is lovely. And his daughter is so much like him… Precocious and happy and. God, Harry, I know you never really knew him and when you did he was a very large asshole but. Harry, seriously, —”

Harry laughed. “I'm glad. I'd hoped it would go well.”

“Did you meet his wife?” Draco asked, a light in his eyes. “Her mother lives with them, too. I'd forgotten how many rooms that house has. It's larger than the Manor. I wouldn't even know what to do with that much space.”

Harry was so relaxed now, sitting on the sofa, that he just responded with a murmured ‘hmm’. Draco happy and excited would go on for a bit and he didn't really need to pay attention.

“We should do that,” Draco mused, hanging up his cloak and finally removing his shoes.

“Hmm?” Harry replied, turning with vague confusion toward Draco, who was now headed towards the bedroom.

“Move back to the Manor,” Draco shrugged. “Mum would be pleased. Anyway, I'm going to change. I'm not really hungry, so you should just fend for yourself.

Harry stared with an open mouth, trying to process the words that had set off alarm bells in his mind, but he hadn't really been listening. He wasn't sure he had been given additional information, and by the time he turned to ask Draco for clarification, the blond had disappeared.

“Crap,” he said aloud. “This isn't going to go well.”

* * *

 


	8. Day Seven: Pearl

  
“I don’t know what part of this you aren’t understanding,” Draco said for the fourth time. “I. Am not. Coming.”

“Draco,” Harry growled. “I really don’t have time for this. The whole fucking team is expecting you. The press is going to be there. I need you to suck it up and just...put it on pause for a few hours. We can have this humongous fight you are itching to have the second we walk back through our door. Please.”

“I don’t see why I should go and make your life easier when you don’t show me the same courtesy!” Draco shouted.

“Oh my god, give it a rest, Draco!” Harry retorted. “Besides, you’d be making your _own_ life easier, you idiot! The press know about the courtship thing. Do you really want them printing that ‘Mr Malfoy was curiously absent from Mr Potter’s team New Year’s party’?”

“I don’t care!” Draco said petulantly, crossing his arms and glaring, still in his pants in the middle of the room.

“Fine!” Harry shouted back, slamming the bathroom door.

When he emerged ten minutes later, showered and damp, Draco had put on a dress shirt and trousers, socks were dangling in his hand, and his jaw was set in a dangerous line. Harry said nothing, and stepped gingerly around him to his own closet, pulling out a smart jumper and the trousers that Draco liked best. He rummaged in the box at the base of the closet and found the small, green shell-shaped box there, withdrew it quietly, and placed it beside Draco, who was now sat on the bed.

“Pearl cufflinks,” Harry said shortly through clenched teeth. “Because our love is pure and generous, and will guide us to prosperity and rare wisdom.”

Draco scoffed. “Sure,” he grimaced, opening the box anyway and looking up at Harry as he put them on.

“Just. Let’s not, okay? It’s just a few hours. Then you can yell at me all night, if you’d like.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

* * *

 

  
The party was loud and boisterous. They were handed around the crowded room like small children being shown party tricks, and they didn’t have to directly speak to each other often, which was a small mercy. Harry felt Draco’s eyes boring viciously into the back of his head every time they weren’t together, and he grew exhausted very quickly as a result. The crowd of jovial Quidditch players were grating and tedious when he knew what he was going home to face.

When they finally made their excuses, just after midnight, and Apparated home, Harry hung his coat on it’s hook and didn’t stop moving forward until he was standing in the centre of their bedroom, pulling off his socks and sitting in the middle of the bed.

“I’m ready now,” he ground out the second Draco entered the bedroom behind him. “Let it out, Draco. I know you’ve been waiting.”

But Draco was silent; he moved around their bedroom in a rhythmic and practised way, hanging up his jacket and pulling off his braces. Placing both he and Harry’s socks in the hamper. Hanging his trousers tidely on their complicated hanger, until he was standing in his shirt, buttons undone, and soft black pants, staring at himself in the dresser mirror.

He pulled the cufflinks out of his shirt. Harry wanted to grin, but he wasn’t allowed, not right now. He wanted to smile and tease about the fact that Draco had worn a full suit, with braces and cufflinks, to a party full of sport lads. He wanted to joke about how Draco had put them all to shame without looking the least bit out of place.

He bit his tongue instead.

“These are very lovely cufflinks,” Draco said softly, holding one up to the light. The pearl inlay glinted against the silver binding. “Traditional, not ostentatious, and they never felt loose. I’ll have to thank Pansy.”

“She knows her cufflinks,” Harry agreed, grimacing because he knew this was a trap.

“She does indeed. She understands these things,” Draco nodded, putting the link in his tie box and removing his shirt and singlet, tossing them carelessly in the hamper.

“Unlike me, right?” Harry said, hugging his knees to his chest and getting his brain into fighting stance.

“She certainly would not have thrown a _hissy fit_ over the suggestion that my mother move in with us,” Draco said nonchalantly.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Harry retorted. “The suggestion was not that your mother _move in with us_ — though for the record, that’s also a no. I believe you actually implied that we go live at the _Manor_.”

“And why not!” Draco shouted, finally goaded into an actual reaction. “Is _Saint Potter_ too good for the Malfoy family home?”

“Draco,” Harry groaned, throwing his arms up. “Do you actually not understand my resistance to that, or are you just trying to be contrary? Seriously? Help me understand why you don’t get it.”

“I just don’t want to live in this flat forever!”

“And those are the only two options, are they? Either live in Malfoy Manor, or its this flat FOREVER. Seriously, Draco? You sound like a lunatic,” Harry hissed, shaking his head.

“Oh and I suppose that next you’ll say ‘oh Draco, don’t worry, we can just buy a country house somewhere next year’,” Draco fumed, leaning on the dresser and crossing his arms.

“Well, why not!” Harry roared, irritated by Draco’s irrationality.

“Well, if we do then we’ll have space and my mother can move in,” Draco sneered smugly.

Harry shook his head. “Draco, I—“

“Harry she doesn’t have anyone else,” Draco interrupted quietly, looking at the floor. “She’s all alone.”

Harry sighed; backed into corners by Draco Malfoy was a place he was very familiar with, but he wasn’t sure how to explain this one without giving away secrets that were not his to give. Instead, he was going to end up sounding like a selfish git.

“Draco,” he began, standing up so that he was facing Draco on even ground. “I get that. I really do. It’s beautiful that you care, and under normal circumstances I’d be completely on board with any plan that helped your mother. But how do we end up helping her with that? We are never home. You travel more weeks than not. I am always at the pitch. You want to move her loneliness into our home, into our sanctuary, and no, I don’t happen to be okay with that.”

Draco’s arms fell to his sides.

“I get your goal,” Harry continued. “I just think you’re going about it in the wrong way. We need to help her find purpose and friends, not shuffle her around like she’s infirm. She’s young. She’s also pretty healthy.”

“Not to mention you don’t want to live with my mother,” Draco interrupted, although he was clearly desperate, trying to hold onto his irritation.

“Draco, I’m pretty sure if you really think about it, _you_ don’t actually want to live with your mother.”

Draco just scoffed and Harry gave him a tentative smile.

“I have a plan,” he said gently. “You have permission to be mad at me until I get the plan to work, and you are allowed to give me a big old ‘I told you so’ if it doesn’t happen, but just...trust me?”

Draco stared at him for a moment, then pushed himself off the dresser. He peeled his pants off, tossing them in the basket as he passed, and curled into his place on the bed, shutting off his lamp with a careless flick of his hand.

“Night,” he muttered.

“Night,” Harry replied in a grateful exhale.

It was as close to a win as he was ever going to get.


	9. Day Eight: Silver Spoons

When Harry finally dragged himself out of the empty bed the next day, he was not at all surprised to find a small note tucked into the bathroom mirror reading  _ ‘had to go into work’.  _ Draco ‘going into work’ when he was angry was not at all a new phenomenon; he actually wasn’t convinced that Draco actually  _ went  _ to work, or if it was just code for ‘be somewhere where Harry wasn’t’. 

Draco Malfoy didn’t do confrontation. Not these days. It was always a bit frustrating to disagree with him, but Harry found he couldn’t back down. Not this time. Even if the thought was making him feel selfish and mean, he didn’t think he wanted to change his mind. 

Dressing warmly and finding his best cloak and nicest gloves (leather, dragon hide,  _ not  _ purchased by him), he wandered out into a stormy late morning, the almost-snow-but-mostly-just-rain lashing against his face and making him instantly more miserable. 

When he finally made it to Wiltshire, the rain was snowier, and he tried his best to put on a smile as he meandered up the walk. The dormant rhododendron was a strange blue-green colour, and there were burlap sacks on everything else. The sight of the garden made him sigh; in the summer, this place was beautiful and full of life. Narcissa did well to live up to her name and her green thumb was legendary. It would make everything much easier if he still had legitimate reasons to not live in the Manor, but the truth was that he sort of loved the house. Its extensive grounds made him feel like he was still at Hogwarts. He liked being able to run through the apple blossoms in spring, fly without being seen in summer, stroll through the crunchy leaves in fall, build snow sculptures in the garden in winter. 

Easier, perhaps, if he hated it here, but still definitely not a place he could live. 

He knocked quickly on the large front door and explained to the elf who opened it that he did not, in fact, have a scheduled appointment with Mrs Malfoy. The elf frowned at him in disapproval and it took Harry threatening to place his hat on the creature’s head to be admitted. He sat uncomfortably in the formal sitting room, on the edge of a crispy, too-firm seat, and left his coat on as he waited. 

“Harry,” Narcissa said warmly. She was wearing a long, fluttery dress that was certainly not warm enough in the vast expansive house. She had obviously been in the library, where there were three fireplaces and it was always too warm and too close in winter. 

Harry knew exactly why she had been there, and it made him slightly frustrated. 

“What a lovely surprise,” Narcissa continued, moving towards Harry as he stood to greet her. He kissed her cheeks when she leaned in, but he sat down again heavily, worrying his hat in his hands and avoiding her eye. 

“Narcissa, I need you to tell him,” Harry said without preamble. He didn’t want to talk himself out of anything. Not today. “We had a fight last night because he thinks you’re unhappy. He thinks you’re lonely and —“ 

“Harry,” Narcissa interrupted sharply, not sitting down on the opposite chair and making Harry nervous. “We have discussed this. It isn’t the right time.” 

“I just don’t agree,” Harry said vehemently. “I think it’s  _ exactly  _ the right time — think about it, Mrs Malfoy! We'll be married this time next year. And by then —“ 

“Yes, thank you, Mr Potter,” Narcissa stopped him. “I am well aware of what will happen by then. I don’t think you are qualified to tell me how to deal with my son.” 

“Well, I don’t agree with you on that either,” Harry said angrily. “But I guess we’ll just have to disagree for now.” 

“Harry,” Narcissa said, softening and sitting gingerly beside him. “Are you sure? Positive that you can’t live here, with Draco?” 

“Narcissa,” Harry said darkly. “I almost died here. My friends too. I just...I can’t. Draco definitely  _ shouldn’t.  _ You don’t want to stay, so why should he?” 

“It’s not so much a want as it is —“ 

“A perfectly legitimate request from a very decent human being?” 

“I suppose,” Narcissa smiled ruefully. “This house has probably seen too much, on that he is not wrong.” 

“Draco thinks you are  _ lonely _ ,” Harry repeated meaningfully. “Even if you don’t tell him about the house, you  _ have  _ to tell him about France. Speaking of which, did you leave him alone in the library?” 

Narcissa smiled a guilty grin. “I didn’t know for sure who I would encounter when the elf announced it was you. Come. Stay for tea. It’s freezing out here.”

Harry smiled and nodded. He left his coat on the chair he was sat upon, earning him a frown and a snap of fingers from Narcissa. He laughed when his coat was begrudgingly whisked away by a very small elf Harry had never seen before. The library was indeed significantly warmer and smelled of cloves. And was not empty when Harry and Narcissa walked in.

“Hello, JP,” Harry said as he closed the door behind them. “Good to see you. Happy New Year.” 

“Ah, ‘Arry,” The handsome grey-haired man said, lifting his hand in a tiny wave from his leather chair, a glass of something amber and steaming in his other hand. “So good to see you.” He raised his glass to Harry. “A joyful New Year.”

_ “Chérie _ ,  _ un autre apéritif? _ ” JP said as Narcissa settled beside him. “And you, Potter? I made it myself.” 

Harry shook his head, too familiar with Jean-Paul’s homemade wine to agree at eleven in the morning. 

He had settled into his tea and a nice, and a fluffy plain scone with jam and cream, when a small pop to his left startled him. 

“Master Draco is being here,” an elf said excitedly. “I has told him that you is being to tea in the library!” He beamed with pride, and Narcissa’s face went white as JP chuckled. 

“It’s okay, Narcissa,” Harry said sympathetically. JP muttered his agreement. “It’s going to be fine. Let him find out this way.” 

“My goodness,” Narcissa exclaimed, a small, nervous smile on her lips. “Outnumbered by a Frenchman and a Potter in my own house… if only my mother could see me now. Oh, very well, Garney. Let Master Draco come through.” 

The elf popped off and moments later, there were heavy, Draco-in-a-snit footfalls in the corridor. The door swung open with typical dramatic force, and Draco strode in, still wearing a cloak. A cloak, Harry noted with glee, fastened with his new ostentatious brooch. Frustrated as he might be, Draco wasn’t really angry  _ at  _ Harry. 

“Mother…” Draco said hesitantly, seeing JP first as he entered the room. He turned to look at his mother and spotted Harry out of the corner of his eye, sighing as he pulled off his cloak and handed it to the house elf behind him. “Why do I feel as though I am about to be very annoyed with everyone in this room?” 

“Draco darling. So lovely to see you. Won’t you have a cup of tea? Or claret? Jean-Paul has some  _ aperitif  _ should you prefer,” Narcissa stood, bustling over to the drink cart and standing expectantly.

“Why don’t you just start by telling me what the hell is going on,” Draco said, deadpan tone betraying his emotion as he sat carefully on the last remaining chair in the room, the hard-backed desk chair, which was older than the house and also the least comfortable piece of furniture Harry had ever experienced. 

“Whatever do you mean?” Narcissa said politely, pouring Draco a claret anyway. 

“Well,” Draco said irritably. “My  _ “Oncle” Jean-Paul  _ is in the library on New Year’s Day, and Harry looks incredibly guilty because he is incapable of hiding any emotion on his ridiculous face. So what is it you aren’t telling me?” 

“Only from you,” Harry grumbled.  

“Believe what you need to, Hare,” Draco quipped, turning immediately back to his mother expectedly. “I’m assuming this has something to do with Harry and his so-called ‘plan’ to help you…” Draco trailed off as he realised what he had said. 

He swallowed and looked away sheepishly, but it was too late. Narcissa was watching him with a sharp gaze, and he looked appropriately cowed before he accepted his claret-like it was a punishment. 

“I only meant—“ he began. 

“I know exactly what you meant,” Narcissa said, cutting him off and sitting beside JP. “It’s amazing, is it not, how quickly children decide that their parents are incapable of caring for themselves?” 

“An age-old problem of old age,” Jean-Paul laughed, swirling his glass, and leaning in to rest against Narcissa. 

“Well, Draco,” Narcissa continued. “Harry believes you are ready to know this, and I suppose I am out of options. Please try not to at like an insolent child.” 

Harry watched Draco’s jaw tighten at the insult, but to his credit, he only nodded and took a sip of his wine.

“Jean-Paul has asked me to marry him,” Narcissa said in a rush of breath. For the first time, Harry realised that she actually  _ was  _ pretty concerned about how Draco was going to react. “We have been… together, off and on, for three years. We reconnected after your father’s death, and… well, I’ve said yes. We are moving to his house in France.” 

Draco swallowed and looked between his mother and JP for a moment, calmly processing the news. 

“To France?” He said slowly.

“Yes,” his mother said, inclining her head gently. “You know that I have not exactly been happy here, for many years. You and Harry are very settled, and… well, it’s just time, Draco.” 

“You are of course welcome to visit absolutely anytime,” Jean-Paul interjected jovially. Harry smiled. It was really very difficult not to like this man, though, for some reason, he had a feeling Draco was about to try. “Both of you,” JP added, smiling back at Harry. 

“We will, often,” Harry replied. “There are far worse places for them to be moving than the south of France, Draco.” 

Draco put his wine down gently on the desk and nodded at everyone before muttering a gentle ‘excuse me’ and leaving the library. 

Harry sighed. “Do you think I should…?” He asked Narcissa. 

“If you would,” she answered weakly. 

“I don’t understand,” he heard JP mutter as Harry followed Draco out the door. Harry wanted to laugh. Not understanding the reactions of Draco Malfoy was Harry’s full-time job.

Harry found him standing in the corridor just outside the room, leaning against a wall and looking pensive. 

“Sorry,” he said as soon as he saw Harry. “I know I’ve been dramatic again.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Harry replied honestly. “I can go if you’d rather. You need some time to think, or…” 

“Stay, please,” Draco said. Harry leaned on the door beside him and waited. “I just…” Draco began. “It’s not that I didn’t know she was spending more time in France. Or that one day, she might, you know… move on.” 

“But?” 

“She’s getting rid of the house, isn’t she,” Draco said so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear him. 

He moved closer, leaned against Harry’s arm.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, turning to bury his face in Draco’s neck. “JP thinks it’s best if she sells the land to Muggle property developers.” 

“How long have you known?” Draco asked innocently. 

“I accidentally walked in on them kissing in the corridor when I came to pick up that chest of drawers last month. She made me swear not to say anything. I wanted her to tell you right away.” 

“No,” Draco said sadly. “It’s okay. I actually get it. I understand. I think…” 

Harry waited, wrapping Draco in a light embrace, waited while Draco stared at the stucco on the ceiling, waited while Draco processed the loss of his family home. 

“I think it’s time to go, actually.” 

Harry nodded and pulled Draco up from the wall. 

“We have to say something to them, though. We can’t just leave. Not this time,” Harry said guiltily. He knew he was right, but he didn’t have to like it. Draco nodded and opened the library door. 

“I apologise, mother. Jean-Paul. That was rude of me,” Draco said the second he stepped inside, finding JP standing beside the desk and Narcissa waiting calmly in a chair. 

“We understand, Draco,” JP said, stepping forward. “I should go, so you can discuss with your family.” 

Draco shook his head. “No, stay. Please. You are family, Jean _.  _ For longer than you have been with my mother. I am happy for both of you. Really. I am. I was a bit surprised, but I am delighted that mother is happier now. I promise you, it has been my greatest wish. Harry will attest.” 

Harry nodded, and it was like the tiny action flipped a switch for everyone. The next few minutes were filled with very un-Malfoy-like expressions of emotion; hugs and cheers, gushing praise. Things Harry had never seen in this house before. He felt a bit off-kilter by the end. 

“Oh!” JP exclaimed suddenly into the quiet library. “You are doing the Courtship,  _ non  _ ? Since Christmas? That is  _ parfait!  _ I have just the thing. Please, wait here for me!” 

With that, he strode from the room, and the other three looked at each other and sat down. Narcissa called for more tea, and cake, and they chatted about the future; about weddings and selling houses, about things they would miss about the large, drafty house. Strangely, Draco didn’t seem all that upset about the loss of Malfoy Manor. Harry wasn’t sure how much of this calm was a show for his mother, but for now, Harry was willing to take it. 

An hour or so later, JP burst back into the room and startled all of them. 

“I am sorry,” he said in a rush of air. “I had to go back to my home. I thought they were here, but alas!” 

“You flooed back to  _ France _ ,” Harry exclaimed, bewildered. 

“But of course,” JP replied, obviously confused. “It could hardly wait...today is day eight is it not? Silver spoons!” 

He thrust a box into Harry’s hand, old and made of lovely redwood. 

“I brought everything, just in case, but the spoons are there as well. For the joining of our families,” he added, beaming at Narcissa, suffused with pride. 

Harry clicked the box open and laughed shortly when he discovered a full set of very old, regal looking silver cutlery. They had a leafy pattern etched into the handle, and were completely free of tarnish. Well taken care of and definitely expensive.

“We can’t take this,” Harry argued. “They look… very special.” 

But JP just waved a hand and Draco shrugged, taking the box from Harry. 

“Fine. Although, I seriously don’t understand this family….Draco, silver spoons. That we may always be wealthy, both with our family and with our endeavours. What did people who had no money used to give on this day?” Harry asked idly. 

Three pairs of eyes stared back at him, uncomprehending. 

“Merlin, I should seriously be questioning whether or not I want to be part of this family,” Harry sighed, sitting back heavily.

“Thank you, JP. They are beautiful,” Draco interrupted. 

“Darling, I hate to ask you to go, but —“ Narcissa said gently.

“Nonsense, Mother,” Draco said. “Harry and I both showed up unannounced. We should be going anyway. My congratulations, again.” 

They both retrieved their cloaks from the front closet and traipsed down the walk, Draco clutching the silverware in front of him like a holy object. 

“Are you actually okay?” Harry asked cautiously. 

“What? Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Well, I mean…” Harry trailed off. 

“Harry, I was only angry at you because I was worried about her. I don’t have to worry about her. Ergo, I am not angry or worried anymore. What part of that isn’t making sense to you?” 

“Aren’t you upset about the Manor? We were sure you’d be upset about the Manor.” 

Draco turned around and stared up at the large, imposing structure that was his childhood home. He shrugged. 

“Things change,” he allowed. “I haven’t lived here in years. Doesn’t really feel like home. I might miss the garden a bit, but… well, I mean, it hardly contains fond memories, does it? Especially for you.” 

“Yeah, I agree, but..” 

“Potter,” Draco joked. “Has anyone ever told you that you worry far more than is healthy. Come on. I want chips. I’ve been craving them all day.” 

He offered his arm to Harry, who shook his head and laughed in disbelief. One day, it was possible he’d be able to predict the moods of Draco Malfoy. 

That day was not going to be today. 


	10. Day Nine: Family Tree

Draco woke to find Harry running around the room stuffing things into a bag. He was either furious at his jumper, or he was running late. It was always a bit difficult to tell, but either way, Draco was annoyed that he'd been woken up.   
  
"The fuck you doing?" He groaned, turning over to face the middle of the bed and stretching out. "It's not even seven."  
  
"Yes, thank you," Harry fumed. "I'm _painfully_ aware of how early it is. But I've got that frigging German ambassador coming to examine me. Or excuse me 'our practice methods' and I haven't cleaned my office since before Christmas."   
  
He ran back to the closet, pulling out a few Quidditch pads that Draco was pretty sure he had banned from the house ages ago. "Then I've got lunch with Pansy and I'm supposed to be taking Rose to the dentist for Ron this afternoon," Harry continued angrily. 

"So you'll be late, yeah?"   
  
Harry froze and looked at Draco out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah," he confirmed. "It doesn't matter, right? It's first Tuesday of the month and you have department meetings so you 'll be late too right?   
  
Draco nodded while yawning and closing his eyes.   
  
"Harry," he muttered.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Button down for the ambassador," Draco smiled, eyes still closed. "Not the blue jumper."   
  
"What but I..." Harry trailed off, voice now coming from the closet and sighing. " Oh fine. It's bloody cold though. I hate you."   
  
"No, you don't," Draco said, eyeing him carefully.   
  
"Whatever. No, fine, no I don't," Harry said, exasperated. "Gotta run. You okay still?"   
  
"Just to sum up," Draco said, sitting up to face Harry. "You are referring to the fact that my mother is marrying a Frenchman, moving to Nice, selling my father's ancestral land, and in the meantime, my fiancé is having a fit over the German Quidditch league sending someone to check how he does things because he's bloody brilliant?   
  
Draco glared at Harry for a moment. "Now that you ask, actually," Draco complained. N o, I'm not okay. I'm really annoyed at you."   
  
"I'll make it up to you later," Harry laughed. "Sorry I woke you up."   
  
"Yeah you should be," Draco moaned.    
  
"Fiancé," Harry repeated.   
  
"What?"   
  
"That's the first time you've said that," Harry shrugged.   
  
"Well, it's a bit late for me to back out now," Draco teased. "Might lead to besmirching of my family name."    
  
"Think that ship may have sailed, mate," Harry laughed. "The whole 'sleeping with a bloke, attending parties in public, and oh did we mention that he's a mud-blood' thing."

"Oh yeah," Draco joked, mock-concern creasing his brow. "Well, and my mother is selling the mansion so I'll have no dowry to speak of. I'm ruined for all other men."  
  
"Thank Merlin," Harry smiled, kissing Draco quickly and shouldering his bag.  
  
"Get out of here. You're going to need every spare second to clean that disastrous closet you call an office."  
  
Harry flipped him off as he ran out of the bedroom. 

* * *

 

Harry looked utterly distraught when Draco walked in. He instinctively looked around the flat, searching for damaged walls or broken objects, ruined sets of robes. Bad quidditch news hadn’t reached him today, and as far as Draco knew, all of the Weasley’s were healthy and accounted for. He ran out of things that normally made Harry ‘distraught’ and sighed. 

“What did you do?” He asked, hanging his robes on the hook and sliding into his ‘old man slippers’ and grinning internally at the instant comfort they gave. “You look incredibly guilty.” 

“You are going to murder me.” 

Draco laughed, “I’m pretty sure of that at least once a week. What is it this time?” 

“Okay, um, well…” Harry trailed off.

“Harry,” Draco smiled. “It can’t be that bad. The flat is still standing.” 

“It’s day nine,” Harry said in a rush. Draco’s face fell slightly. 

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah, I guess it is.” 

“Yeah, and I...okay, well Pansy and I talked about it a lot, and I thought when I had left her house that it was a good idea, but then, I burned the pizza I’d made and I was waiting for you and I’ve started to think that maybe —“ 

“Harry,” Draco said alarmed. “You’re rambling.” 

“Okay, just come here,” Harry said head hung low. 

“Look, I know this one is problematic, but whatever you found, it's obviously not an issue. I mean, we both know that everything is bullshit anyway and that I don’t feel that way anymore, not about blood status. My mother will just have to deal with whatever —”

“Draco,” Harry chuckled. “Now you’re rambling.” 

“Sorry,” Draco said miserably. He was truthfully pretty worried now. He didn’t want to have to explain to his mother if Harry…

It didn’t make sense, though. He inhaled deeply. 

“Close your eyes,” Harry said nervously as they reached the kitchen. Draco did, even though he thought it was ridiculous and likely unnecessary. “I invite you to witness my family tree, so that you can see it’s purity, and know that it has room for you and your kin, that we may grow and flourish as a family, united for eternity, entwined in the branches of our joined ancestry,” Harry said quietly, the old and formal words ringing around the kitchen as he stood behind Draco and held him. Draco opened his eyes. 

In the middle of the kitchen, sitting upright and proud was a sapling. A pine tree, by the looks of things, four feet tall and resting in a sturdy pot. 

“Family tree,” Draco murmured, looking at the tree for a moment and taking it in. 

“I just thought… I mean, I don’t know my mum’s side of the family, and I’m not Pureblood anyway so that doesn’t exactly matter, and this way… I know it's corny but—“ 

“Family tree,” Draco repeated. “ _ Our  _ family tree. It’s...Harry, this was brilliant. It fits the requirement, and it also flips the establishment the bird. I am a huge fan of both of those things."

He turned in Harry’s arms and kissed him lightly. “Where are we going to put it though? We don’t have a garden.” 

Harry laughed, pulling Draco tight against his hips and kissing him deeply. He refused to let Draco pull back for long moments. 

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged eventually. “We’ll figure it out."


	11. Day Ten: Gold

Draco was not in the habit of receiving owls at work. He had learned the hard way that the person who quite often cancelled Quidditch games because of irritating regulatory mishaps and questionable threats usually didn’t get great mail. He’d banned howlers with a series of complicated spells shortly after moving to the gaming component of Cursebreaking. Since then, he’d managed to convince almost everyone he knew to take his owls for him. It was just easier that way. 

So, when he walked into his office late Wednesday morning to find a large, tawny owl standing on his handsome leather chair, he cried out in frustration and ducked as the owl swooped over to him. When the owl settled gently on his coat rack and held out it’s leg, Draco folded his arms and glared at it. 

“I am absolutely not taking that,” he snapped. “Who the hell even sent you? It doesn’t matter. Go back and remind them that  _ I do not accept owls.”  _

“Mr Malfoy?” A voice said at the door. “I didn’t hear you come in— uh oh. Owl?” 

Draco shifted his glare to his assistant, Grace, and nodded sharply. 

“Did you want me to, uh?” She gestured to the bird, who was still holding his leg out expectantly, ruffling its feathers in frustration at Draco’s dithering. 

“No, I don’t accept owls,” Draco repeated. 

“Well,” Grace laughed. “Luckily, this memo came in this morning from upstairs.” 

She handed him the plane-shaped parchment and pulled the note off of the owl, who nuzzled her hand gently and flew out the open window. “He’s definitely a dangerous bird,” Grace said jokingly, handing him the rolled parchment and leaving the office, still chuckling.

Draco sighed at his own ridiculousness as he shrugged off his coat and unfolded the first note. 

_ It’s just me. Let the bird in. -Pansy  _

The roll of parchment in his hands unfurled easily, and he read carefully, nervous because Pansy didn’t usually bother with messages; any excuse to leave her own office and stroll around the MInistry for an hour was golden in Pansy Parkinson’s books. 

_ Idiot,  _

_ Sorry for the bird, but those memos get lost all the time. Needed you to actually get this letter. I am unclear as to how I got wrapped up in this, but there you are. Regardless, meet me at the floo coordinates below at noon. Don’t be late, you dolt, we don’t have extra time today.  _

_ Grace has already put in the day off for you, and she has a sandwich for you because we both know you didn’t eat breakfast. She might have tea as well, but that’ll depend on how nasty you were to her when you left last night.  _

_ Bring your coat, it’s bloody freezing.  _

_ -P  _

Draco read the note twice and then spun around his office for a moment. It was already half-eleven because it was his late day; he had only planned to be here a few minutes to get paperwork, and then he had a full afternoon of visits. His calendar sat on the wall, marked with red and looking menacing. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Grace said, walking back into the office with a paper cup and a sack in her hands. “I’ve rescheduled all of them. You never use all your vacation days, anyway. It wasn’t hard.” She pulled his coat down and pushed him toward his fireplace. “Tea. Sandwich. Coat. Go,” she insisted. 

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand and pulled the pot of floo powder from the mantle. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said as he took some in hand. 

“I really wish people would just start telling me what’s going on,” he complained as he stepped into the fire. 

“No, you don’t,” Grace quipped. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” 

He grinned as he tossed the powder down.

* * *

He stepped out of a large, old-fashioned hearth into a bright and empty room. The walls and mantel were white and clean, the floor a light coloured birch that glinted and shone. 

“Pansy?” He called out. 

“So,” she said, entering the room from a door to his left. “First up, we have a lovely Victorian three-story. Newly renovated, already connected to the Floo network, as you can see. Some old wizard sold his daughter’s house for her after she moved to Australia. It’s quite lovely, but Muggles keep sensing a ‘disturbance’ because unfortunately, there are doxies in the attic. Nothing you can’t deal with, of course, but I think perhaps you should get rid of them before you move in.”  

“Pansy, what the fuck are you on about?” 

“It’s big,” she continued, “But I kind of like it. Five bedrooms. More than enough room for me to have a room, and for whatever random Weasley’s you collect. Come through and I’ll show you the kitchen.” 

Draco continued to try and ask her questions as he followed her down a few steps into a sunken kitchen that reminded him of the Manor, but with modern appliances and a stone floor. There were copper pots hanging from a wooden frame over a large island, and Draco temporarily forgot his confusion as he looked around in awe. 

“Yeah, I thought that this was the only other room you really needed to see. You’re a sucker for a good kitchen,” Pansy simpered, leaning on his shoulders from behind and then pulling him forward. “Come on, no time to linger. This is my favourite feature of this house. It’s called a ward bubble...very expensive charm work, but it means that in the kitchen, you can Apparate and Disapparate freely. Only people you add to the list, but it’s brilliant. Watch.” 

Pansy grabbed his arm as he opened his mouth to ask a question and spun them into the darkness. The air was ripped from his lungs and he was compressed and uncompressed before they landed outside a row of tall houses on a quiet street in gently falling snow. 

“Now, this one is a bit more of a flat, but it might be a good starting place? Three bedrooms, still bigger than your current place, but definitely a better location. Also Muggle right now, so it would take a bit of work to make it  _ magic ready  _ but it’s not exactly hard. Let’s go.” 

“Pansy,” Draco shouted in exasperation, pulling her hand back and stopping her from her forward march. “What the fuck are we doing right now?” 

“Oh, darling,” Pansy said sympathetically. “If I could have told you that, don’t you think I would have? Let’s go! There’s no time. We have like fifteen minutes and there’s still one more place.” 

Draco groaned and threw his hands in the air, but ultimately, he did follow her. He knew that Harry was behind this, and frankly, he knew exactly what was going on; he just wasn’t clear why it was going on, why Pansy was involved, or why they seemed to be on a speed mission. 

“So yes, modern design, pretty open considering it’s a row house, but the top floor is stifling,” Pansy continued, leading him through an open entryway whose ceilings were impressively tall. She led him through three bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bath that held a beautiful clawfoot tub, before dragging him to the back of the house and out a beautiful set of French doors. The back garden contained a beautiful patio and an old tree. 

“Yeah, it’s nice, isn’t it. I agree. Keep it in mind. Okay, last one,” Pansy said, grabbing his arm again and making him feel very ill indeed. He needed a moment to reorient and not throw up when the landed. “Sorry, guess I should have warned you.” 

Draco looked up at her wryly and found they were standing in front of a little blue house with a fence on one side and a stone hedge wall on the other side. He could hear the ocean and he could feel the breeze. 

“This one is small, but no neighbours. And it has a beach just there.” 

“Pansy, please tell me that at some point very soon you are going to explain to me  _ why  _ we are running around, quite literally speed shopping for houses? And where the fuck is Harry?” 

“Here!” A voice called from the porch of the little house. “Sorry! I was supposed to be there right at the start, but I got held up by the awful man at the pitch.” 

“Potter, explain yourself,” Draco said, crossing his arms and eyeing Harry. Harry just laughed. 

“You know what you are like,” Harry shrugged. “You’re indecisive and you suck at making choices. Quickly come through here, and then you have to decide where we are going to live."

“Are you fucking mental? That is not a decision you make after seeing a house for four minutes! You have to...have inspections and… and take your time. And…” Draco trailed off as Harry and Pansy both laughed at him. 

“First of all, darling,” Pansy said, a patronising hand on his shoulder. “You have no idea what you are saying. Secondly, Harry and I have already done all of that. We’ve been looking for weeks. These places are all perfect for you two. Big enough to grow into, should you need that, and inspected by both Muggle and Magical authorities. They’re all in good areas with high wizarding populations, and none of them are in the city centre. Harry likes all of them. He’s just waiting for you to decide.” 

Draco looked at them for a moment, mouth agape, and finally dropped his arms. “Bloody fucking — fine. You’re both mental, but,” he sighed, “Lead on I suppose.” 

Two and a half minutes later, Draco was standing out the back of the little blue house with his hands on his head, staring at the ocean. The blue house was adorable, and he felt like he was going to vomit again. 

“Breathe, Draco,” Harry teased him, standing beside him. Pansy stood to his left and folded herself into a patient stance. 

“You seriously want me to decide? Right now? What  _ house  _ we are going to buy.” 

“Or let,” Harry shrugged. “We can just rent for a while if it stresses you out less. But yeah. We’ve been in that flat two years longer than we were meant to be.” 

Draco stared at him and Harry patted his hands on his head in a terribly fake gesture of comfort. 

“Why _now_!?” Draco yelled, batting his hands away. “Why in the name of all that is sacred have you chosen this  _ Wednesday  _ to buy a  _ house _ .” 

“Well, finally,” Pansy smirked. “That is the obvious question, Draco. I’m a little disappointed that it took you this long.” 

Harry chuckled, and Draco grew more irritated. Harry reached down into his work bag— which Draco only now noticed he was still wearing— and pulled out a large, heavily laden Gringotts bag.

“Oh for the love of—“ 

“I give you the gift of gold,” Harry interrupted, grinning like an idiot, so proud of himself that it practically radiated from him in waves. “Symbolising my desire to make a practical and well-balanced life with you. We are courageous and serious, and this gift of enduring precious metal shows our worth.” 

“Did you encourage this?” Draco said, turning to Pansy. “This weird, twisted following of the rules.” 

“You are dating  _ Harry POTTER,  _ and you think  _ I  _ encouraged him to break the rules?” Pansy quipped. “You have to take it from him.” 

Draco sighed, but reached out and took the bag from Harry, who just beamed in self-satisfaction. 

“You’re the bloody worst, you know that?” 

“Yup,” Harry agreed. “Did you choose a house?” 

“Yeah,” Draco admitted reluctantly. “The first one. Where is it?” 

“Chippenham,” Harry grinned. “Good choice. That’s my favourite too.” 

“What, seriously? Thought you’d have wanted the sea,” Draco said, pointing back at the blue house. 

“Yeah, me too,” Harry shrugged. “I was wrong. Come on, I’ll take you on a proper tour of it before we call the agent.” 

Pansy grabbed both of them by the arms and walked with them back around the garden. “Can I choose my room while we’re there?” She asked heartily. 

Harry and Draco just laughed. 

“Course, Pans,” Harry said finally, jostling them all violently. “Fuck. We’re going to be homeowners.” 

“Homeowners with  _ zero extra gold _ ,” Draco smiled. “I like it a lot.” 


	12. Day Eleven: Rings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH this chapter is so late. I'm sorry. Life was super Lifey today. :D 
> 
> There's like an abnormal number of f-bombs in this chapter? I dunno. they felt necessary. Sorry.

Pansy woke up in a weird curled knot on Potter’s sofa. She supposed it had been _their_ sofa for longer than it had been only Potter’s, but as a rule, Pansy didn’t change her names for things until forced. There was a strange taste in her mouth and her hair was flat against her face. She was still in her blouse and pants from the night before, though her trousers were hung neatly over the edge of the chair in the corner, and she remembered folding them indignantly before crashing onto the sofa.

She cursed Draco’s name as her head rebalanced itself; it was his fault she had ended up drunk for the first time in weeks the night before. When Malfoy decided to ‘celebrate’, he refused to let others politely decline, and so she’d ended up drinking four tequila shots on a Thursday evening, and called into work sick before the night was even over. Luckily, they’d been home before anything embarrassing had happened, but she had become weirdly attached to _not_ leaving the boys’ flat, and eventually, Harry had just offered to let her sleep in the living room.

All of it was very unlike her, and she was angry at everything as she tramped to the kitchen, where Draco already sat with a hangover potion in his outstretched arm and a cup of his too strong coffee sitting in an empty space at the table.

“Is there any point in apologising?” Draco said as she took the potion.

“Not until this has worked,” Pansy replied, voice hoarse.

She threw back the potion and sipped the coffee until the headache in the back of her brain began to subside. Draco opened his mouth to speak, and she held up a finger to silence him. Her eyes closed, she let the potion continue to shift her nausea and her fuzzy thinking; it was extremely unpleasant.

“She survived,” Harry’s voice said loudly as he entered the kitchen. Pansy heard Draco shush him as he sat down to his own coffee.

“How the _fuck_ are you okay?” She grimaced, opening one eye to glare at him, although her hangover was largely gone and even she knew she was being a bit dramatic.

“He doesn’t get hangovers,” Draco answered bitterly. “And yes, that _is_ very annoying.”

“You sod,” Pansy said, opening her eyes and looking at Draco. “You _moron_. We are too old to drink that much on a weeknight.”

“You shut your mouth,” Draco scoffed. “I was excited. I own a house now, you know.”

“I know,” Pansy smirked. “You told me _numerous_ times last night. You definitely drank more than either of us.”

“Thank Merlin for hangover cures,” Harry interjected.

“Why are neither of you at work?” Pansy complained.

“Harry doesn’t have to be at the pitch until noon, and I don’t work on Thursday or Friday because of the number of Sundays I work,” Draco said, standing and walking to the toaster.

“Well, fuck you both,” Pansy said. “I’ve had to use a vacation day for this.”

“Good,” Draco said from the counter. “You can come help me and my mother. She asked me to clear out my old bedroom.”

“Oh hooray for me,” Pansy deadpanned.

Harry cleared his throat. They both looked at him with the same expression — one he had long ago started calling ‘Slytherin common room’; quirked eyebrow, loathing sitting just in the corner of their eyes, daring him to offer up some sort of conversation that was worth their attention.

“It’s, um, good that you’re here though, Pans. Today’s day ten,” Harry explained.

Pansy lit up immediately. “Oh my god, so it is! You’d think I would have noticed that before yesterday when I was roped into helping with your manic house hunt.”

“Wait, what?” Draco interrupted. “Why does that matter? Day ten is just..what, rings? Isn’t it? What am I not remembering.”

Harry grinned. “Oh it’s rings, alright," he agreed. "But what you _don’t_ know is that in attempting to help your clueless dolt of a boyfriend, your best friend here has created the best competition in the world.”

Pansy smiled at both of them and the level of excitement on her face was unnerving. Draco groaned.

“Why do I get the feeling that I am _not_ going to agree that this is a good thing,” Draco groaned.

Harry reached into his  pocket and pulled out two boxes, both black, both obvious ring boxes, of classic hinge and weight. He placed them both on the table.

“Now,” he stared. “First and foremost, let me just say...I give you a ring so that you may have a public symbol of my love and blah blah blah, but listen. This is the fun part. Pansy bought a ring for you. It was in the box with all the other things.”

“But Potter here doubts my taste," Pansy interrupted. "Or possibly how well I know you? It’s unclear. Regardless, he decided my ring wasn’t ‘you’, and bought another one.”

Draco groaned again and buried his head in his hands.

“So now,” Pansy continued, laughing. “You have to choose.”

“Hey!” Harry protested. “I was supposed to tell him he got to choose.”

“Yes, well he quite clearly worked that one out on his own.”

“Don’t worry, Draco,” Harry said sympathetically. “It doesn’t matter either way.”

“Fuck both of you,” Draco whined. “Of course it bloody well matters. There is no way I win this one, is there now? I pick Pansy’s, Potter will sulk for days. I choose Harry's Pansy will throw a fit.”

“Hey!” They both exclaimed at once, proving him right. Draco just sighed and pulled both boxes toward him.

“Harry, do you like both rings?”

“What?” He replied, confused.

“Well, you said it wasn’t ‘me’, but...did you like it?”

“Yeah, it just—“

“No, I get it, it’s fine. But...do you like the one you bought, too?”

Harry laughed, “Yeah, obviously.”

“Okay. Rule added,” Draco sighed. “You wear whichever one I don’t choose. We can use them as our wedding bands?”

“But you said—“ Harry started.

“Yeah, no, they aren’t normally, but… Jesus Potter, work with me here,” Draco said, exasperated. Harry considered for a moment and finally nodded. Draco opened the boxes.

Both rings were simple to the point of being beautiful; both white gold, both a classic width. Not showy, not ostentatious. One was two-toned, the middle band a beautiful and simplistic brushed silver with delicate shined edges. The other was hammered gold, a gentle dimpling giving it texture and character, barely noticeable unless you touched it. They were both pretty beautiful, but Draco knew immediately which one he wanted. He hesitated for long moments, unsure of who had bought which ring.

“I really dislike both of you, you know,” he sighed, lifting each ring to inspect it. He slid them both on, waited for inspiration to strike; but there was no use. He knew, just _knew_ which ring was his. He pushed the boxes away, leaving his choice settled onto his ring finger.

Harry immediately leapt out of his seat and cheered, clearly victorious.

“Oh fine,” Pansy said dejectedly. “You win, sit down and put your _equally_ gorgeous ring on your finger.”

Harry danced around the kitchen for a moment before doing as Pansy requested. She stared at them both for a moment before reaching out and grabbing both their hands quite suddenly, studying them for a second before she exhaled and dropped their hands.

“What?” Draco asked, mildly concerned. Harry tilted his head in caring question.

“I’ve only just realised that you two are _literally_ going to be married,” Pansy exhaled. “You’ll be the first of us, Draco,” she added, looking at him, embarrassed because of her glassy eyes, unbidden tears sitting behind her lids.

Draco took her hand from the table and said nothing. They sat, the three of them, holding hands at the kitchen table until Harry had to leave for work.


	13. Day Twelve: Paper

 

“I’ve had a thought,” Harry announced as he jolted Draco from his peaceful crossword. Draco sighed.

Fridays in the offseason were complicated. As much as he loved Harry, Friday was his day in the flat; the day he got everything else done. He cleaned. He actually cooked. He spent the day doing the shit he could never _quite_ seem to accomplish during the week. Which meant it was slightly harder and just the tiniest bit irritating when Harry was around.

“I’ll call the Prophet,” he replied, not looking up.

“Haha,” Harry quipped. “Yes, you are hilarious with your terribly unoriginal joke.”

“Fine,” Draco sighed, putting down his pen and staring at Harry. “What is this thought of yours?”

Harry glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Dunno if I wanna tell you if you’re in a mood. Won’t exactly work.”

“Oh Merlin, Harry,” Draco groaned. “Okay, fine, I’m sorry I snapped before. Please, oh please, tell me what you’re thinking.”

Harry glared.

“You know how I once told you that things are hard for me on Fridays when you are home and you aren’t allowed to be mad at me for that because I am very patient with you most of the time... nowadays?” Draco said in a rush of breath.

Harry’s shoulders fell and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine. But this isn’t going to help your mood, not if you’re all in your head.”

“It’s okay," Draco said, trying to stay calm. "Just... get on with it.”

“Well,” Harry dithered. “I was thinking maybe we just get married? Like. I mean. Today.”

“Um,” Draco stammered. “Huh?”

“Well, I mean, it’s supposed to be paper today, because it’s the last day. And Pansy said it was usually some sort of contract given to the family or some nonsense like that, but I was thinking about it and...I mean, a marriage license is a paper, yeah?"  
  
Draco just stared at him, mouth agape. Harry rushed on.

"Plus, we already live together," he reasoned. "We don't need anything, so gifts would be sort of pointless. And you know that if we give Molly— or your mother for that matter— power over a wedding, things are quickly going to get out of hand.”

Draco smiled. That was certainly true. Harry inhaled to speak again, but Draco held up a quelling hand and he paused. Draco thought. 

“I mean, I’ve never really wanted a big wedding. I always assumed I’d be marrying a _woman_ when I thought that way, but still,” Draco mused.

“Well, yeah, exactly. Plus, this way, we call...who? Pansy, Ron and Hermione? Your mother? Molly, maybe? And we just...get it over with. No offence and we can totally do the party later if you want but…”

“What?” Draco pushed. He saw the vulnerability on Harry’s face and it scared him a little bit.

“Well, I mean,” Harry said nervously. “I just think maybe I’d rather just marry _you,_ without having to do the whole ‘former child saviour marries former Death Eater' thing. You know?”

Draco smiled sadly. It was true. It was easy to forget in the bubble of their flat, in the confines of their own little lives, where things were old and routine, nothing exciting happening most days. It was easy to forget that they technically still were Symbols. Symbols of something neither of them represented anymore.

“Do you even know how we do this?” Draco asked, implicitly agreeing. He knew Harry understood because a huge grin broke out on his face.

“Yeah. We can have an appointment at the Ministry at three. If we want,” Harry replied.

Draco thought for a moment and looked at the ceiling. “You already called everyone, didn’t you?”

“Possibly,” Harry said sheepishly.

Draco just rolled his eyes.

* * *

 

At 3:45 that afternoon, a bundle of mismatched wizards and witches walked out of the Ministry guest entrance. They didn’t look like a family.

But they were.

Happiness spun around them and made everyone around them aware of their connection. It might not look like it, but it had taken years for them to get to this point. It did not happen overnight. It did not happen in the bright flash of a newspaper photograph, or in the stories told in whispered hushes to children at bedtime.

It did, however, happen.

Harry Potter held the piece of paper high above his head, the one that declared him a member of a joint union with the one other person on the planet who understood him, and he spun around to face his ragtag relatives.

“Draco Malfoy!” He shouted, making everyone laugh. “I give you this piece of paper, it’s probably important, and there are a bunch of stupid words I’m supposed to say right now. But instead, I’m just gonna say, you’re stuck with me, mate.”

“God,” Draco smiled, reaching for Harry’s hand. “Let’s get you to the pub before you manage to embarrass everyone I’ve ever known.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sort've amazed I actually finished this. I'm not good at daily updates. Thanks for sticking around. Come hang out with me on Tumblr! Same bat time, same bat channel! (Ie my name is ProfessorDrarry there too. I don't bite...unless asked ;) )


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